Hornet's Nest
by Spense
Summary: A trio of kidnappers get much more than they bargin for when they kidnap two Tracy brothers and hold them for ransom. COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

Disclaimer: Don't own, no profit, etc.

Movie-verse, mostly because of the ages, and a few other details.

Special thanks to Boomercat for her marvelous beta work, for asking all the 'what if' questions, and especially for the technical details that are such a part of writing well.(Considering that I can't spell worth a darn, even with a spell-check, I appreciate it more than you can ever know!)

CHAPTER ONE 

"But Dad . . ." Alan whined.

Jeff Tracy counted to ten. Some things just never changed. If he ever became a drinking man, it would have been because of this, his youngest son. You think he'd have been used to it after raising four other sons. But none of them had been quite this bad, except possibly his second youngest, Gordon. He'd come pretty darn close. Gordon however, had been significantly more subtle, (and still was, unfortunately.) He'd always come at things sideways, rather than head-on, the way Alan did. Nevertheless, Jeff just had to keep reminding himself that he'd been successful with those four (including Gordon!), and he would be with this one as well.

"Alan, I've made up my mind. You will be accompanying John to New York and that's final."

"But summer's almost over, and I've hardly been home." Alan increased the whine in his voice as he noticed it getting to his father.

Jeff had to acknowledge that there was some truth to that. Alan had spent the first part of the summer in New York, having run away from home. Then the next several weeks were spent recovering from a severe illness, both at home, and even more to his liking, on Thunderbird Five. And Jeff knew what was at the root of the problem right now. Alan wanted to start the hardcore training that it took to become a full-fledged member of the family business – International Rescue.

Jeff had begun Alan's formal training with John up on Thunderbird Five, the space station, for several reasons. First, communications were an integral part of the job. And second, he knew he was walking a fine line with Alan's training program. Alan definitely needed to learn, but he also needed time to grow up and mature. At fifteen he was just too young to be handling the same jobs his older brothers did. Jeff's job was to keep him on the tightrope – learning, but still getting a chance to be just a kid.

On the other hand, there was no doubt in his mind that Alan wanted to learn the more glamorous (and dangerous) parts of the International Rescue. Specifically, by several comments he had made it was evident that he wanted to begin training to pilot Thunderbird One. Alan had had an intoxicating taste of what it was like when he'd gotten to fly the ship to London over spring break in order to defeat the family's nemesis, the Hood. That had been enough to whet his appetite. Unfortunately for Alan, the Thunderbird's regular pilot (his oldest brother Scott) had made it pretty clear that Alan would flying his ship over his dead body. In place of that, the youngest Tracy had made it abundantly apparent that he would be just as happy to learn to fly Thunderbird Three, their space going rocket. And that would be over Jeff's dead body right at the moment.

"And exactly whose fault is that?" Jeff asked sternly, answering Alan's complaint.

Alan grinned. "Actually, Scott's, Virgil's and Gordon's mostly," he said cheekily, referring to a conversation that had been the whole root of the problem last spring.

Jeff had to laugh. His youngest son was never boring, to say the least. Their relationship, although still rocky (was there any other sort at that age?), had definitely evened out some over the last few months. However, Jeff was under no illusions regarding his temperamental youngest son.

With the tension eased, he continued. "You need to get new school clothes and books. Term starts in a couple of weeks." He alluded to the new boarding school that Alan was to be attending this year. "And I want you to see the specialist again at New York Children's Hospital for an all clear for you to return to normal activities."

THAT brought the expected storm clouds back to Alan's face. He didn't handle illness well, and Jeff knew that he was sick of doctors, treatments, and restrictions. After dealing with meningitis and its aftermath, Jeff didn't blame him one bit, but he still was taking no chances.

Before the oncoming storm could break, he continued. "And John has some business matters to attend to, so you're going with him. And he mentioned something about a trip to Ellis Island." He smiled as Alan's face lit up. "Provided you behave." He added sternly. And laughed at Alan's expression.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

The trip went quickly, and despite Alan's misgivings and the required visits to the hospital, he had a great time. He and John had canvassed the city. This was way more fun than doing it on his own. John seemed to know all the little known facts about the town, and freely imparted his knowledge to his younger brother. Alan had a blast.

In addition, at his father's request and Alan's wholehearted endorsement, the two brothers had made a special trip to see a Pastor John at a small, nondescript mission in the middle of Manhattan. The man had been instrumental in getting Alan home safely, and in no small way had saved his life. Jeff had made sure that the reward he had offered for Alan's safe return had gone to Pastor John and his Mission.

This visit though, Jeff wanted to make sure was from him personally. John and Alan had been dispatched with a handwritten note from Jeff, as well as a rather substantial donation. Alan was glad to see the soft spoken man again. John also managed to take him aside and impart the whole family's thanks.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"Ok, John. We'll see you late tonight then. It will be good to have you home. Fly safe." Jeff said with a smile, the light of another spectacular sunset bathing the room.

"Will do Dad. See you tonight." John's voice and smile carried through the vidphone.

Jeff smiled and leaned forward to sign off to the accompanying voice of his oldest son, just entering the room.

"John manage to keep from strangling Alan yet?" Scott asked, laughing.

Jeff shook his head. "Contrary to popular belief, not everybody wants to strangle your younger brother all the time."

"Could have fooled me," Gordon added his opinion, entering the room.

Jeff snorted as Scott remarked, "Well, they want to strangle you just about as often."

"Hey!" Gordon protested, hand dramatically on his chest for emphasis. "Never me. I'm the fair haired child," he added with a look of innocence.

Jeff relaxed back in his chair, smiling. It was good to see his sons clowning around again. It had been a very stressful spring and early summer, and things looked to finally be back to normal. His two sons flopped onto varying chairs in the room.

"Virgil checked in yet?" Scott idly asked about his middle brother, currently manning International Rescue's space station, Thunderbird Five.

"No, not yet. But since we're all here, how about we save him a call?" Jeff suited action to words. "We need to get a status report anyway."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead Base." Virgil's voice was heard as his picture appeared on the screen in response to the call.

A chorus of voices greeted him, and the status meeting began. Jeff listened in contentment as his sons discussed the various weather phenomena that might play a part for International Rescue. All was right with his world. John and Alan were on their way home, and the other three boys were on the job. No outside crisis, no IR jobs at the moment, and no family issues looming. Life just couldn't get much better.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"Alan! Hurry up!" John was frustrated. The last flight checks had been done and he was ready to leave. It was very late, and the large Tracy hanger at the airport was lit only by the three focused spotlights directly above one of the sleek jets, and the dim lights from the small office back in one corner. The rest of the hanger was thrown into black darkness, with only a few dim metallic glints giving any indication of the aircraft residing in the shadows.

John gave a groan of annoyance. He'd had fun with Alan the last few days. After the time on Thunderbird Five, he felt like he'd gotten to know his little brother a lot better. They had more in common than either of them had ever figured. Probably more would continue to emerge as Alan continued to mature. He had a feeling that Alan was going to end up as an astronaut as well. He was sure fascinated with anything space.

But right now, all John wanted to do was get underway. Alan, as only a typical teenager could, was just about anywhere except where he was supposed to be. Climbing down from the plane, he headed back to the small office where he'd last seen Alan playing a computer game with his music blasting through his small headphones, so loud that John could clearly tell what was playing.

"ALAN!" John yelled again in irritation, hoping to be heard over the decibels of the music. And stopped cold at the sight of his younger brother, standing in shadow against the back wall, blue eyes huge and fixed on John over the large hand clamped over his mouth and the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his left temple.


	2. Chapter Two

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

Thank you for all the reviews. Wow! That was amazing! And don't worry – the story is fully completed. I'm just finishing the final polish.

S.

**CHAPTER TWO**

The rescue call had come in at about ten pm, and the Tracys' didn't return until nearly four in the morning. The good news was that the rescue was successful. The bad news was that it was, well, four in the morning. Done-in, they worked to complete their post flight checks. Finishing at about the same time, they met in the underground corridor leading back towards the Villa.

"You know, I'm surprised John wasn't down helping out," Scott commented wearily as he moved towards the house.

Jeff's eyebrows went up. "You're right. Knowing John, he would have been down here by now."

"Especially with the Kyrano's gone," Scott reminded his father.

Jeff frowned. Scott was right. The Kyrano family had gone to the mainland for a couple of days of vacation and had taken Fermat with them. John would have been down assisting, knowing they all needed to chip in with the island low on help. The fact that he wasn't raised the hair on the back of Jeff's neck.

"Not Alan," commented Gordon wryly. "He'll be asleep."

Jeff shut him up with an irritated glance, and stopped. "I'm going to check the hanger," he commented, a premonition nagging at him.

Scott just stopped dead and nodded. Concerned as he was, his legs felt too heavy to even move another step if he didn't have to. Gordon, on the other hand, sagged against the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up, and closed his eyes. They both came quickly back to life as their father returned at a fast and very much awake trot. "Tracy One isn't here."

"WHAT?" Gordon snapped in surprise. "They should have been back hours ago."

"I know," Jeff said grimly, and all fatigue forgotten, they headed at a run towards the command and control center.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

John sat in a seat in an aircraft, wrists handcuffed together in front of him to something solid. He was blindfolded, but interestingly enough, he was not gagged. That bothered him. That indicated that there was nobody to hear him if he yelled.

And he was scared. The sight of his little brother with a gun to his head was the last thing he had seen. Before he could do anything besides process the scene, he'd been hit from behind and the next thing he knew, he woke up to find he was here. Wherever here was. And whatever time it was. Somewhere in the air in what sounded like a helijet. This aircraft was most definitely not the sleek, ultra-refined, state-of-the-art jet, Tracy One; not with these engines.

But it was the sound of the engines that told him exactly what kind of aircraft he was on. The workman-like din of the motors would have made him laugh under other circumstances. They were definitely manufactured by Tracy Enterprises, and he would have known them anywhere, mainly because of a conversation he'd had with Scott at the time of their development.

Scott had been test piloting a new 'family sized personal transport' that Tracy Enterprises was developing in its helijet line. It had driven him absolutely crazy. Scott had called it a pig, and had said it had all handling finesse of a cement mixer. John had pointed out that this came from the man to whom everything was compared to Thunderbird One.

Personally, John had thought the design a good one, and had liked the looks of it. Scott may not like the handling, but to the average pilot, the fact that it wasn't so touchy and sensitive was actually a good thing. John's opinion had been proven right: it had become a terrific money maker for Tracy Enterprises.

So here he was. Seated in a helijet specifically designed by Tracy Enterprises for families. In other words, individual compartments so that you could separate annoying siblings and create some peace and quiet. There was just a little bit too much irony in this for John's sense of humor at the moment since Alan was no where around.

Now at any other time, being separated from Alan on a trip (however long or short) was not necessarily a bad thing. John could think of any number of times that he would have killed for a helijet like this when they were growing up, but this was not one of them. He would dearly love to know where his little brother was right at the moment. He could only hope Alan was locked away elsewhere on the craft. Any other possibility was too frightening to consider.

A deep voice startled him. It was loud, not surprising, considering the sound of the engines. "So, Mr. Tracy. Enjoying your flight?"

John didn't answer. He was struck sharply on the side of his head for his trouble.

"Answer me!"

It took John a moment to get his equilibrium back and focus on the words. He'd already been knocked out once already, and had a whopping headache because of it. He also felt somewhat sick from the motion of the helijet. He really hadn't needed the additional blow on top of everything else.

John tasted blood and debated whether to respond or not. Finally he sighed. "Not particularly."

A genuine laugh answered him. "So, a comedian. I rather expected railing against your situation. You may be a realist, much like I understand your father to be, hmmm?"

Figuring it was safer not to say anything, John remained silent.

"Hmmm," came the thoughtful voice again. "You surprise me, John Glenn Tracy. You are not at all what I expected."

"And what exactly did you expect?" This was tough. This man may or may not know about International Rescue. If he knew, then there was one set of problems. If he didn't, there was another. Anything he said could be wrong, and could give ammunition to the other side.

"Hmmm, what I expected . . . Well, let's just say I stayed away from your other three brothers. I know that two of them have served with distinction in the military. Your middle brother also is very fit. But you now, well, you've kept a much lower profile. Engineering, Computers and Astronomy at Harvard. A scholar. So, between that and the lack of military training, I thought you'd be an easier target. But now, I'm not so sure," the voice continued conversationally. "Ah, well. Can't be helped now. I have you and your youngest brother."

John closed his eyes in relief. Alan was alive.

"The two most vulnerable Tracy sons."

John's eyes snapped open at that, even though he still saw only the underside of the blindfold. 'Vulnerable!' What the . . . Where on earth had this idiot come up with that description of himself and Alan? For one thing, he obviously didn't know Alan very well. Calling his baby brother vulnerable was a little like calling a cobra harmless. He might change his mind after dealing with the youngest Tracy for awhile. And if this man thought that because John hadn't been in the military service he was an easy mark, well . . . he had another thing coming. He'd managed to survive growing up with four brothers and a father who was both a famous astronaut and an Air Force Major!

Nobody would have lasted long in his family without being tough. John was just frankly astonished at the man's comment. He came from one of the most physically active families he'd ever seen. It had taken him years to realize that his family was not the norm. Normal families did not breed sons who won Olympic gold medals. Normal families did not conceive of, and then enact something like International Rescue. Normal sons do not fly rockets.

But then again, that was the point, wasn't it? John thought as indignation faded. This man couldn't know half of what he and his family had accomplished. Vulnerable indeed. Well, if that's what this man thought, that may work to their advantage. Obviously, with that comment, this man couldn't know about International Rescue. He would be handling the two of them with significantly more safeguards if he did. His suspicions were confirmed when the man continued.

"Just exactly what I needed to make my millions."

Ransom. Oh, for crying out loud. This was patently ridiculous. He was going to be the laughing stock of his brothers for months to come after this.

"Now, I will tell you what I want you to say for the video recording I'll be making shortly for your father. And please remember, I have your younger brother Alan, as hostage for your good behavior."

John felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. This was for real. Alan's life was in his hands. He also had no doubt that he was also the hostage for Alan's good behavior.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

At five in the morning, Jefferson Tracy and his two sons, Scott and Gordon, watched in horror the video unfolding in front of them. Brains, who had been working point on the night's rescue, had long since retired, and hadn't been available to ask about John and Alan. So arriving in the study and seeing the blinking light signaling a message on the vidphone had been a welcome sign.

Jeff, assuming it was John, was ready to chew him out for not communicating with them. But the scene, a generic seat on a generic plane was heart stopping. The family watched in horror as the handcuffed and blindfolded man that was unmistakably John spoke.

"I, John Glenn Tracy, am to tell you that my brother, Alan Shepard Tracy and I, are being held for 10 million dollars in ransom. You will receive further instructions on payment in a future transmission."

The screen cut dark. Then, a nearly identical scene was shown. Only the clothes were different, and the build of the blond young man in the seat was slighter. Alan's slightly shaky voice came through this time.

"I, Alan Shepard Tracy, am to tell you that my brother, John Glenn Tracy and I, are being held for 10 millions dollars in ransom. You will receive further instructions on payment in a future transmission."

The screen went black as the transmission ended.

The silence in the room at the close of the transmission was deafening.


	3. Chapter Three

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER THREE**

Exhaustion forgotten, early Tuesday morning was taken up with the Great Family Debate. Immediately following receipt of the transmission left on the vidphone, Jeff, Virgil (via vidphone from TB Five), Scott and Gordon gathered in the study. Rousing Brains to join them, the conclave gathered for a high level summit meeting.

After the initial protestations of disbelief, the group got down to business.

"Are you going, uh, to the FBI with this?" Brains asked guardedly. It was always better to be cautious when one (or more) of the Tracy family was in trouble.

Jeff rubbed his face, and looked pensively at the others. "I have my ideas, but first I'd like to hear yours." He gazed at his oldest son. "Scott?"

"No!" was Scott's immediate, explosive response. "We can deal with this faster ourselves. We have better communications tracing equipment, faster planes and better overall capabilities." As the saying went, there was blood in Scott's eyes. "And they have no idea what they're getting into."

Gordon eyed his older brother warily, as though he were a snake about strike, then looked at his father. "I have to agree with Scott. We are probably more capable of extracting them than anybody."

The calculating look on Gordon's face told Jeff that his second youngest son's agile brain was already on the job. Good, they were going to need it. He turned to the vidphone. "Virgil?"

There was a long pause as Virgil considered his answer. Then, "I'm in agreement – we handle this ourselves. We don't know what they know about International Rescue, or what their real motives are. I mean, they want money, but is that all they want? No, we do this ourselves."

"Brains?" Jeff turned to the engineer.

Brains looked at the two remaining Tracy sons present and Virgil's image in the vidphone carefully. They were a serious, hard-eyed bunch right now. Very, very intimidating and competent. Although Jeff hid it better, he had the same look about him. "We handle it," he said briefly.

"And you Dad?" Virgil inquired.

Jeff thought about how to frame his reply. Finally, he just said bluntly, "I want the authorities involved." He held up his hand to forestall the massive explosion taking place around him. "Let me finish!" At his stone-faced glare, his sons backed down.

Brains had to hand it to the man. Jefferson Tracy still had iron control over his adult sons. No mean feat considering the strength of character and sheer capacity of each of them.

Jeff waited until there was silence in the room again. Sullen silence, but silence none-the-less. "I want these kidnappers thrown in prison for the rest of their natural lives. I want absolutely everything that Tracy Enterprises has at its disposal thrown at them and landing on them so hard that they won't know what hit them. And above all, if any harm has come to John or Alan, anything – even something as minor as a scratch, I want these people nailed to the wall."

At Jeff's vehemence the level of sulky glowering the room abated greatly, replaced by a mood of intense, laser-focused interest.

"That said, I want the bulk of this handled by us, and in such a way that John and Alan are safe. Once that is accomplished, then we move in with the authorities. But I want an air-tight case against these criminals. Any objections?"

A roomful of negatives was his answer. "Good then. Now, we need a game plan. Virgil – you're our communications person right now. Any comments?"

"First off, I wouldn't try the wristcomms from our end. If they were able to, they would have contacted us by now. One, they may not have them in their possession anymore, and two, giving John and Alan away as International Rescue would put them in more danger than they already are," Virgil commented.

"Agreed," Jeff said in response. The others nodded as well. "What else?"

"Well, I'm no John on Five's communications, that's for sure, but we know the transmission came into the vidphone this morning and was left as a message. So I believe that we're safe to assume they'll communicate the same way the next time. They probably think it's secure."

Gordon snorted. "Yeah, and it would be if we weren't International Rescue."

Scott nodded agreement. "I'd have to agree. With all the buzz about vidphones being the most secure of communication forms right now, and all the safeguards in place around its transmissions, it would follow that that's what they'll likely use."

"Okay. Virgil? Is there any way you can speed up the normal tracing programs?" Jeff asked.

Brains cut in before he could continue. "Virgil, there is, uh, a new prototype program that John, uh, and I have been working on. It will, uh, pinpoint the exact location within seconds. It, uh, bypasses the entire security process, unlike, uh, our old program which, uh, worked through it."

"Does it work?" Scott asked bluntly, getting right to the point. "We'll probably only get one shot at this, so it had better be right."

"Yes, we've been, uh, testing it for sometime. It's much more accurate," Brains replied.

"All right. Brains, you get with Virgil on this. I want it set up and running ASAP," Jeff instructed. "And Virgil?"

"Yes Dad?"

"Monitor everything. We can't take a chance on this. If they use a different type of communications system, we'll need to know about it."

"FAB Dad." There was a pause, then Virgil continued. "And Dad, I want in on this." His voice was hard, and all those in the room knew it wasn't a request.

Jeff had no intention of denying his son's request. He needed all of them on this, in addition to understanding Virgil's need to be present. "I agree. As soon as the transmission comes in, someone will be up to get you."

"FAB," was the reply, and Virgil signed off.

Brains excused himself as well, saying he was heading for the lab to contact Virgil and get to work.

The three exhausted men remaining in the study just looked at each other in silence for a moment in the bright light of the sunrise.

"What a mess," Scott muttered finally, getting up and beginning to pace.

Gordon watched his brother knowingly. Scott's feet were moving, which meant that the wheels in his brain were moving as well. Leaving his older brother to it, he turned to his father.

"Any guesses as to when we'll get the next communication?"

Jeff just looked at his son pointedly.

Gordon grimaced and threw up his hands. "I know, I know – stupid question. But seriously," he began, "Any plans in the works?"

"Maybe," Jeff muttered. "It really depends on where and when they want the drop."

Gordon studied his father's face. He could see the strain in it. "Will you pay the ransom?" he asked, desperately trying to keep his tone neutral.

The question stopped Scott cold in his tracks, and he turned to look at his father expectantly as well.

Jeff gazed back thoughtfully at them for a moment, eyes hooded. Then he answered. "If I have to – YES. Whatever it takes to get John and Alan back. And then I'll want blood."

He studied his two stunned sons for a moment. "I suggest you both get some sleep while you can. Virgil and Brains are on the communications, and I want both of you in top form when we move." With that, Jeff got up and left the study, leaving his two sons staring after him, open mouthed.

Scott and Gordon looked at each other for a moment. They had always been under the impression that they father was do whatever it took to protect his sons, but to hear him state it quite so bluntly was another story. They were far more used to the subtle mind that created International Rescue. To see this side of their father out in the open was quite another story.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

When John woke up, he recognized that he was no longer in the helijet. Stretching his stiff neck, he realized that the last thing he remembered was finishing the transmission, then a needle driving deep into the side of his neck. As that memory surfaced, John's stomach churned, and he turned his head just in time to lose his last meal. 'Drugged. Great, just great.' He felt vaguely dizzy as well.

Shaking his head to try to clear it, he took stock of his situation. He was on a floor on what felt like thin padding of some kind, with his hands handcuffed around some kind of post behind him, and the blindfold still very much in place. The room smelled vaguely musty, and he could hear rain on the roof. Additional smells of oil and machinery. A shop then. Some kind of outbuilding.

John listened carefully. Aside from rain, he could hear what sounded like light wind moving through trees. No traffic sounds, no city sounds. Out in the middle of nowhere then.

John continued to take stock of his situation and try to make plans as the time dragged on. But he was having a hard time making the intuitive mental leaps that had always come so easy for him. He just felt slow and logy. Like he wasn't thinking quite right. Kind of like when he was extremely tired and it seemed to take a minute to change his mental focus. Geez, what had they shot him up with?

He called out, yelling for Alan periodically, but there was never any answer. John didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually he was treated to the sound of a door opening, footsteps, and the same voice he'd heard before.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tracy. I take it you enjoyed your nap?"

"Not really," John replied coolly, after clearing his throat. "I'm not overly fond of being drugged."

"No, I don't suppose that you are."

There was a momentary lull in the conversation, and he strained to hear the activity around him.

"No . . . you fool . . ." the man's deep voice suddenly hissed. "Over there. And clean up this mess!"

"Sorry," a disgruntled mutter answered him.

"Silence!" the original voice snapped.

Two, at least, John thought, . . . and from the sounds of it, maybe three people.

"So, Mr. Tracy," the original voice broke into his thoughts. "You will no doubt be glad to know that your younger brother was as reasonable as you were, hence, he is in one piece and unharmed, just as you are. It would be appropriate to keep matters as they stand, don't you agree?" A pause, which John did not fill.

"Now, we have the matter of the next transmission to your father. A private island, Mr. Tracy. Really. What must he have been thinking. Such a recluse and so antisocial. And such an extravagance. The ultimate in self-protection? Well, it has not sheltered him from outside interests this day."

John did his best to hide his laughter. Self-protection my eye! This man had no clue whom he was dealing with. Tracy Island and Thunderbird Five had some of the best communications tracing equipment in the world, as John himself had cause to know. They were poking a hornet's nest with the biggest stick imaginable and had absolutely no clue what they were doing. It was highly amusing, that is until he remembered the gun to Alan's head. That thought sobered him up quickly.

"Now, please remember. This is what you are to say. Do not deviate or young Alan will suffer the consequences in your hearing. I assure you that neither of you will enjoy the process."

John felt cold at the chill tone of the man's voice. "I understand."

"Good. Here is what you are to say. 'I, John Glenn Tracy, am to tell you to have ten million American dollars cash in unmarked, non sequential, random mix of used one hundred, five hundred and one thousand denomination bills. Have these ready to deliver upon the next transmission. Do not, under any circumstances, contact any authorities.' Do you have that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Repeat it to me please."

John did so.

"Very good. Now, you will repeat it on my say so, and say nothing else. Please remember young Alan."

John cursed silently, but obediently did as he was told. He just didn't see any other option.

"Excellent. If your father follows these instructions as well as you and your brother have followed yours, then the two of you should be safely home tomorrow night."

John could hear shuffling in the background. "Sleep well, John Tracy." And the door shut, leaving him in black silence once more.

John found himself trying hard to reach Alan. 'Stay cool Alan. No heroics. Just do as they say. _Please_!' He finally turned his attention to trying to escape, hoping against hope that Alan understood the seriousness of the situation.


	4. Chapter Four

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Scott might pace in order to better think, but Gordon swam. He'd finally slept, out of sheer exhaustion. Now, he swam laps in the pool. Back-stroke for 200 meters, then crawl for 200, then the butterfly, then the breast stroke. Then he began it all over again. It could be mind numbing at times, but it could also stoke the creative fire.

He thought about his father. The core of strength ran incredibly deep in that man. It was a good thing too. This had been a really tough year so far. First the Hood had taken over the island. Gordon's stroke missed a beat in his rhythm as he thought of that episode. He put his mind on his swimming for a moment, getting back into his rhythm.

The Hood taking over the island was one of the most harrowing things Gordon could think of. It was their home and their sanctuary. That was bad enough. But to be trapped up on Five, with no other hope but Alan had made it even worse.

But his pipsqueak little brother had really come through. That alone had made Gordon think that there might be hope for the brat yet. As much as he could make Gordon crazy, they had always been pretty close. Gordon had always liked his sheer cheekiness, and besides, for him, it was utter self-defense to get close to Alan. Following in age order of the 'big three', geez, a guy found camaraderie where he could. Scott, John and Virgil always seemed like perfection personified, and Gordon was usually looking for new ways to take them down a peg or two. Alan always had managed to rise to the occasion to help him whatever plans he was making to torment their older brothers, and was usually a pretty admiring audience as well.

Gordon switched strokes again. Then came the whole rotten episode in late spring. Gordon still cringed when he remembered the things that he'd said. Alan had run away, and when they'd finally found him, he was so ill that they weren't sure he'd pull through. That had been a really long couple of days. He still didn't think Alan even knew how close he'd come to not making it.

But there had been good coming out of that time. Gordon now had not just an admiring audience, he had an active partner in crime. As Alan grew up, Gordon was discovering more hidden depths in his little brother. He thought about the prank they'd pulled on Scott with the computers. Well . . . let's just say he had something else percolating in his mind for the two of them. But now this had to happen.

John and Alan both missing. They didn't even know who was behind it. This was shaping up to be the worst year ever. Well, maybe not ever, but it was pretty close to as bad as the year his mother had died, and to the year he'd had the hydrofoil accident. Having seen his father's face, he knew Jeff's thoughts weren't much different.

Alan was a magnet for trouble, Gordon thought as his mind turned back to his missing brothers. They all knew that. But John was Mr. Clean. He could make a boy scout look like a hoodlum. John had to live the most boring life imaginable, at least in Gordon's opinion. Gordon was still astounded that John had joined in when he caught Alan reprogramming all the computers to practically self-destruct when Scott logged in. And John had never said a word to anyone about it. John was his brother, and he loved him, but he would never understand him. How could a guy be so absolutely unexciting?

Gordon's mind skipped to another tangent as he swam. The thought of John and Alan together on this one made him laugh. He'd love to be a fly on the wall at some point in this one. Mr. Impulsive (Hurricane Alan as Virgil had once dubbed him) and Mr. Conservative himself. But they seemed to be getting along pretty well this summer. Dad had sure dumped Alan on John a lot, but John never seemed to care. He actually seemed to enjoy it.

Still, stressful situations brought out the worst in people, and he'd love to see where this one led. John probably wouldn't ever tell him, but he'd get it out of Alan eventually. Gordon could play his little brother like a piano. Having five years on him sure didn't hurt.

But first things first – they had to get them back. That led Gordon full circle again, and he started to chew over the days events again. His thoughts were halted as his attention was caught by movement at the side of the pool. Feet in fact, stopping at the edge, and wavering through the filter of the clear water. Gordon stopped mid stroke and emerged into the noise and sunlight, loud after the muffled solitude of underwater.

"What?" He said to Scott who was standing at the edge.

"Dad says to come up to the study. He wants to have a pow-wow," Scott said briefly.

"Okay," Gordon answered just as briefly, and proceeded to climb out of the pool. One look at Scott's face had shown him that old Scotty was in 'big brother mode'. There'd be no living with him until they got to the bottom of this. Tunnel vision didn't even begin to cover it. Time to tread very carefully.

Gordon grabbed a towel and began to dry off as he watched Scott head purposefully for the study. He was under no illusions. Most kidnappings did not end successfully. As much as he tried to hide from the knowledge, he was well aware of it, and knew that his family was cognizant of this as well. So far, nobody had mentioned it, and Gordon was sure not going to be the one to point this out. If this all ended badly, it wasn't only going to be John and Alan as the victims. This whole family would self-destruct. Ignoring the knots in his stomach, Gordon took a deep breath, and went to join the meeting in the study.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

John waited what seemed like an eternity before he began to try and see what he could do about getting loose. He'd been checked on twice. Nobody had spoken to him, but he had heard footsteps, then the door opening, sharpening the sounds of the rain. After a pause, the door had shut, and the footsteps had faded away again.

After the second check, John began to fiddle with the handcuffs and try to feel around behind him to see if there was something he could pick them with. He still felt lousy, even several hours after waking up. His head was killing him, and his neck was stiff. But worse was the way he was thinking. He still just felt slow, and like he wasn't able to plan as well as he usually did. Shoving those thoughts aside as unproductive, he turned back to getting free.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"What's up? Any news?" Gordon asked as he entered the study a few minutes later than Scott, having detoured to dry off.

"No," Jeff said from his seat at the desk. Scott had joined him, leaning with one hip hooked on the desk and conversing with Virgil via the vidphone.

Gordon dropped into a nearby chair and waited.

"I want to make sure everything is set. Make sure all the Thunderbirds are fuelled and equipped. I want the first aid supplies checked and ready. Virgil and Brains are standing by with the new tracking program. And I want us set up in shifts to monitor things from here." Jeff held up a hand to forestall the inevitable protests from both Scott and Gordon, neither of who were willing to give up the first shift.

"No. We have no idea when this is going to go down. Having all of us operating on no rest is ludicrous. I want somebody in here round the clock, but only ONE of us. Understood?"

A chorus of 'yes sirs' answered him. But before Scott and Gordon could put their heads together to figure out a timetable, Jeff continued. "And boys? Make sure you put generic, non-identifiable flight suits in each of the birds. If we have contact with the kidnappers before the authorities as we've planned, they must have no inkling that you are International Rescue. Understood?"

"FAB," came the response. And the Tracys went into action.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

The remainder of that day and night were awful for Gordon. He had more patience than his little brother, but he also had an extremely high energy level. The waiting made him crazy. They were as prepared as they could be. The Thunderbirds were provisioned and ready. Generic flight suits and helmets in an intimidating charcoal gray were stowed, as well as carry-alls with civilian clothes for each of them just in case.

To Gordon, the hardest part was inventorying and restocking the emergency crash carts. Bad enough to have to use this stuff on people they rescued, but to have to use it on his own brothers. . . Gordon shuddered. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

The red-haired Tracy son watched as Scott checked the weapons, and stayed well clear. He wasn't going to cross Scott right now for anything. With the mood his older brother was in, Gordon was just going to stay in the background, let super-Tracy do his thing, then step in to clean up the aftermath. Scott had always been tough, and his time in the Air Force had just honed that to a razor's edge.

He'd also always been fiercely protective of his brothers. Overprotective in Gordon's opinion. Add those two traits together and Scott was downright intimidating. At least, now, the older Gordon got, the easier he found it to deflect that eagle-eyed attention of 'Captain Tracy' over to Alan and off himself with just a couple of words. He'd gotten remarkably adept at it. A skill his little brother had yet to learn, Gordon thought to himself with a grin.

With everything done and ready, the activity on the island settled to a quiet waiting. A quiet pregnant with anticipation and alert readiness. The Tracy family stuck to their watch schedule, but otherwise disappeared to silently indulge in whatever helped them to cope. Action was preferred, but until that time, they persevered through the hardest thing of all – waiting.


	5. Chapter Five

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER FIVE**

When John hear the distinct sounds of frogs, he knew it was late evening or even well into night. It was definitely time to get out of here. All he wanted to do was get Alan and get the two of them home.

He had managed to discover that he was cuffed around a post of some kind, and with some maneuvers on his part, he had ascertained it was a type of bench. Moving his shoulders up and back, he worked to see if he could shift it. Maybe he could lean it back against the wall and slide the cuffs underneath. Working as quickly and silently as he could, he first tried one position, then another, trying to get the leverage to shift the bench.

Finally, he was successful. Sliding the cuffs under, he relaxed his body and let the bench crash the inch of so back to earth. Jumping at the sound it made, John listened carefully. Nothing. Just rain and frogs. Geez he was jumpy. He was sure getting paranoid. John suddenly wondered why, because that wasn't really his normal personality. Sighing, he let it go, figuring he'd worry about it later. Right now they needed to get as far away from here as possible.

The next step was to get his hands in front of him. This he did fairly easily. After that, the first thing he did was whip the blindfold off, stand up and finally look around. It was night. It would be really nice to see the true light of day sometime, he thought ruefully. The light of a single floodlight outside threw brightness into his prison, giving him enough to see by. He was in a workshop of some kind all right, just like he'd surmised. Full of old car parts, farming tools, rusting nails and all kinds of other odds and ends.

Eyeing the workbench that he'd been cuffed to, he gazed at it in disbelief. How on earth had he ever budged that thing? He stared at it in awe for a moment, then shook himself into action. He had to get these cuffs off, and find Alan.

Picking the handcuffs took just seconds. Obviously not professional issue, and with all the crap lying around, it was just a second to find something to work. Pocketing the thin nail he'd used on the cuffs, he turned his attention to locating Alan.

He had been right. There were really in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The small house in front of him was lit up like a Christmas tree. Two stories, it looked like maybe two bedrooms upstairs, and a simple design below. Since there were no other outbuildings besides the one he was in, by process of elimination, Alan had to be in the house.

A gloomy light rain penetrated everything. The heavily wooded area was made up of evergreen trees, maples and alders. Okay, they were somewhere in the North. Mountains or foothills from the looks of it.

Trees grew close to the house. John decided that his best bet was the roof. Check the upstairs for Alan, then go from there.

Putting his thoughts into action, in no time John had scouted for guards, and seeing none, scooted across the yard, staying in the shadows, out of range of the single floodlight. He shinnied up the nearest tree to the upstairs window.

He hit the jackpot the first time out. In the sparse upstairs bedroom he found his brother – blindfolded and handcuffed to an old, but solid looking iron bedstead. Because of the mild temperatures, the window was open just enough for John to speak to Alan.

"Alan!" John hissed.

Alan froze from where he was apparently trying to work the cuffs free. "John?" he whispered in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's me. Where are they?"

"Don't know, but not upstairs. Heard 'em all go down."

"Great, then I'm coming in." John slowly edged the window up, trying to avoid any noise. He was soon inside and had Alan's blindfold off. Alan blinked owl like at him in the sudden light.

"You all right?" John asked as he took a quick visual once over of his little brother. He looked okay.

"Fine. Get me out of here!"

"Okay, okay. Just quit squirming, will ya?" John commented as he bent to pick the lock on Alan's handcuffs.

Quickly freed, Alan bounced up from the bed, rubbing his wrists. "How'd you get the key?" He began to ask, then noted the slim nail in John's hand. "Oh. Wow. Man, you picked the cuffs," he commented, clearly impressed. "I've never learned to pick those," he finished absently, starting to look around.

John was a little afraid to think about what kind of locks that meant he 'had' learned to pick, and what that meant for the future of his brothers' privacy, but that was for another time. Quickly grabbing his brother, he hugged him hard. "You're sure you're okay? Last time I saw you there was a gun to your head."

Alan returned the embrace tightly, and said, muffled, into his brother's shoulder, "And the last time I saw you, they had bashed you in the back of the head and were dragging you out of the room. I'm fine."

John laughed. "Me too. How about we get out of here?"

"All for that!" Alan agreed as they separated.

Carefully, John and Alan made their way back out the way John had come in. Pausing at the base of the tree, John tapped Alan's chest to get his attention, and motioned him towards the window that had caught his attention. Silently, they crept towards it, and peeked inside. Voices floated out from the cracked window.

"Terrific! This time tomorrow we'll be in clover!" One man, about John's own age tilted back in a chair, obviously in high spirits.

His buddy, out of sight, made a jovial sound of agreement.

"We're not done yet!" The deep voice John was familiar with said. The two brothers looked at each other quickly and ducked back down, the voice following them. "Two more transmissions to go still tomorrow, so don't get cocky."

John slithered back out of sight and silently made his was across the yard towards the shop. Alan followed closely in his wake. Once inside, Alan looked around incredulously. "Who are these bozos?"

John shook the rain from his face. "No clue. What did they make you say?"

Alan repeated a verbatim of what John had said the first time. The second, however, was more interesting. "Basically, instructions for the ransom drop. A canyon in the Cascade Mountains in Washington State. They are to helijet in at five pm. They gave the coordinates." Alan rattled them off. "What did you say?"

John told him absently, thinking hard. "Two transmissions, huh. Well, they'll probably send mine tomorrow morning, and yours just late enough that they'll have to hurry to get here."

Alan looked disgusted. "They are so stupid. I mean, Dad'll wipe the floor with them once they trace the transmissions. Virgil will have it done in two seconds flat!"

John's grin resembled that of a shark. "I know that. You know that. But International Rescue is a secret organization, remember? They don't know that!"

Alan laughed. "I'd love to see their faces when Thunderbird One shows up!" His face fell immediately. "But Dad can't do that, can he?" he commented dejectedly.

"No." John shook his head. "No, he can't. So our first priority is to get well out of here." It suddenly occurred to him once again that this was a paranoia speaking that was abnormal for him. He still felt like he was trying to think through molasses.

"Way, way away," Alan said firmly.

John looked at him in surprise. Usually Alan would be begging to stay around, hiding in the woods or some such thing. He'd definitely want to join in the fun when their brothers, or the police, or whoever was going to come save the day finally showed up.

"What did you say?" John said, wanting to make sure he'd heard correctly.

"I want to get out of here," Alan replied, looking at John as though he'd grown two heads. "I just want to go home."

A sound outside from the woods made them both jump nervously. At least Alan was as paranoid as he was, John thought. "I'm all for that. Let's get out of here and as far away from here as possible." He was beginning to think this was some kind of repercussion of the drug they'd taken, but unfortunately, it didn't make the aftereffects any less real.

"Take a car?" Alan suggested.

"No . . ." John said thoughtfully. "Hit the woods I think. They'd notice a car gone quicker than us. I got the feeling that they are done with us for the night. And I don't know about you, but my wallet and wristcomm are gone."

He saw Alan's grimace as he said that, and knew Alan's was gone as well. "At least they probably just thought the wristcomms were cool watches," was Alan's comment.

There was some truth to that, John thought. But before he could reply, Alan's face brightened. "I can fix the cars," he volunteered suddenly, and then was gone before John could stop him.

"Crap," John muttered, running a hand through his hair. That kid just never stopped moving. He paced for a few moments, then took a couple of minutes to scan the work bench. Just junk. Nothing worth taking. He listened carefully. Still hearing nothing, he was about to slip out and track Alan down, when said brother appeared panting beside him.

"What the hell were you doing?" John hissed at him.

Alan smiled broadly at him, completely unrepentant. He held up a handle of 'something' in his hands. "Distributor caps!" he stated proudly. Dumping these unceremoniously on the work bench, he told his open-mouthed brother, "and I got a map and the car registrations. Maybe we can figure out where we are!"

John grinned in spite of himself. His father hadn't been wrong that day they were trapped on Thunderbird Five. Alan was a Tracy through and through. His quick thinking was just like Scott's, and he was eerily like Gordon in his cleverness (probably from hanging around the known prankster so much). However, his cheekiness was all his own.

"Excellent. Nice work!" He commented, smiling as Alan's young face lit up, basking in the approval. "Chuck those into the woods somewhere, and let's get out of here.

Alan hesitated a second, looking at the odds and ends in the shop. "You know there might be a spare in here," he ventured.

John shrugged it off. "Can't be helped. Besides, they'd have to find it."

Alan snickered as he gathered up the caps once again. "Good luck in all this crap." He looked at the workbench again. "Oh, this might come in handy!" He pocketed a slim file. John once again decided he was probably safer not knowing.

"Let's get going," John stated, and the two brothers carefully made their way out of the shop and down the night-black driveway.


	6. Chapter Six

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER SIX**

The two blond Tracy brothers kept up a steady trot, making good time down the shoulder of the two lane highway the long driveway had let out onto. They worked to put as much distance as they could between the kidnappers and themselves.

The rain was a steady drizzle as they jogged past farms and fields. The farms were separated from each other by dense stretches of woods. John had planned to dodge into the trees in case of an oncoming car, but there was no life to seen aside from the occasions barking of a dog. Even that innocuous sound could make both of them both jump.

John knew that they were being ridiculous. This may be the backwoods of nowhere, but people were usually friendly more often than not. However, he just couldn't bring himself to march up a driveway and knock on a door. But know this intellectually and being able to get past the feeling of enemies behind every tree was another thing entirely. He wondered again about whatever it was they had been drugged with.

After several hours of steady movement, John was beginning to wear out. He kept waiting for Alan to complain, but surprisingly, his younger brother stayed silent, gamely matching his pace. John finally stopped. Alan imitated him, looking puzzled.

"I need to stop," he finally admitted. "Let's find someplace to hole up before it gets light out."

His brother's soft, heartfelt 'good' told him all he needed to know. Alan wasn't in any better shape than he was. Being knocked out, drugged and tied up was beginning to catch up with both of them.

"How about there?" Alan commented after gazing around.

"Perfect," John responded tiredly.

A large, ancient wood barn, half covered by blackberry vines and alders was off to the side, well away from the farm house. Without another word, they made their way toward it.

Luckily for them, the barn had a huge loft, full of bales of old grass hay. Without even having to comment, they entered, took a quick look around, then headed for the pitch-black loft. They made their way by feel over the top of the monstrous pile of hay bales towards the back. By feel, they began to shift the hay around them until they had made a fairly well concealed cave.

"Man, these suckers are heavy!" Alan complained.

John sighed. "And nothing like doing this in the dark." He grunted as he heaved another bale. "We're getting soft, Alan."

"Speak for yourself," Alan replied. "You're the one who spends most of his time on a space station."

John snorted. He had a point.

They finally managed to get everything the way they wanted it. The entry was blocked as well as they could get it. Hidden by the back wall, somebody would practically have to be on top of them before they found them.

As they settled in, adrenaline finally draining from their systems, they shifted on the rough, stalk covered surface of the hay to get comfortable. John finally asked carefully, "You feel okay?"

Alan groaned. "No. My head aches, and if I hadn't already puked up everything already, I 'd lose it now."

John grinned sympathetically. "That's what I thought. Me too. Must be whatever they stuck us with. That and the knot on the back of my head." He rubbed it gingerly.

"Muummm." Alan was still shifting, trying to get comfortable.

They were wet, tired, worried, scared, and both sick to their stomachs. Lovely 24 hours, John thought as he wedged himself into a corner. "Come here," he said softly to his brother, putting an arm over his shoulders and pulling him close. Alan relaxed immediately and nestled in close, reminding John poignantly of the days when they were much younger, and their father had been working long hours.

Then, the boys only had each other. John would often wake up to find Alan curled up in the adjoining bed with Scott. Or if Scott was out, John would often wake to find Alan in his bed with him. The unwritten Tracy rule. The older boys took care of the younger.

"You had me scared to death, sprout. Seeing you with a gun at your temple. Took years off my life," John sighed.

Alan gave a soft laugh into John's shirt. "Didn't do much for me either." Then he swallowed hard. "And when they hit you, geez John, you went down like a load of bricks. I thought you were dead for sure."

Despite Alan's matter of fact tone, John could feel the shudder that ran through his brother. He hugged him closer, wrapping both arms around him tightly, as much for himself as for Alan. He was just grateful that they were together, free, and in one piece.

"I'm okay, Alan, really," he whispered softly. "Just a headache." He could feel Alan's tight nod against his chest, and the tension in his brother's shoulders. John was pretty sure his little brother was trying not to cry. "It's okay Alan. It's just me. I promise I won't tell anyone. It's okay to be scared."

He could barely hear the whispered reply. "Scott wouldn't be."

John had to laugh at that. "Wanna bet? Trust me, Scott would be scared. And he'd handle it, just like you did. Just like a Tracy. Strong when he needed to be. Then when it was safe, he'd let down."

That was all it took to get Alan to break down. John just held him, rubbing his shoulders as his brother let go of the emotional upheaval of the last 24 hours. What a truly horrendous day. Finally Alan seemed to be all cried out.

"Better?"

Alan nodded, still not looking up.

"Good. Let's get some sleep." John settled Alan comfortably against his chest and kept his arms close around him. He was fully aware that they were fugitives, and it was going to be a long day tomorrow. He felt Alan nod again, then could feel him gradually relax, and heard his breathing even out as he fell asleep.

Still holding tightly to his brother, John wasn't so lucky. He was too worried to sleep right now. He needed to work some things out. First off, all he knew was that they were somewhere deep in the mountains. They had no idea who had kidnapped them, just why – ransom.

He still couldn't believe that. Out of all the things that they knew, the closely held secret as to who was International Rescue, and the amazing technology involved, they were held for something as mundane as money. It was just so ludicrous. And unfortunately, just as deadly for them.

They had no money – their wallets were gone, along with all their ID, and their wristcomms. At least the people who had them would just think they were regular watches. Even so, that was going to go over well when they got home. Well, they'd deal with that later. They'd lost wristcomms before. Brains could deactivate them remotely.

So what to do. Stop at the nearest residence and call their father? Any normal person would do that. But, they were far from normal. And lets face it, that would be the mother of long distance calls, and they had no money or ID with them.

They were also hiding the fact that they were International Rescue. Man, this got complicated. He sighed heavily. Picking up on his frustration, Alan shifted uneasily in his arms. He rubbed his brother's shoulder until he settled again, then resumed thinking.

They were in a remote area. They didn't know friend from foe. In an area as sparsely populated as this, who knew if the law enforcement was even counted on the friendly side. And they couldn't even prove who they were. If they could get to a phone, they could call Anne Marie Watkins, Dad's assistant in the New York office. She knew everything about the Tracy family and IR, and could alert their father for them. But the trick was to get to someplace to make a call. No, their best bet was to keep out of sight and make their way home on their own.

It occurred yet again to John that this was extreme paranoia talking. He knew that there should be alternatives, but he just couldn't seem to get past the feeling that everybody was against them. He'd talk to Brains about it when he got home, it just had to be some kind of effect of the drug. But for the time being, he just had to roll with it.

So what about the other side. Dad and his brothers would be doing their level best to be tracing the transmissions. They would find them too, of that John had absolutely no doubt. But how would they handle it? Through International Rescue? Or by other means.

Probably other means. Jefferson Tracy would want the heads of these men on a pike, no doubt about it. So they would probably use Thunderbird One to get here, then a quick change of clothes, and a trip to the authorities, and billionaire astronaut Jefferson Tracy would be calling the shots. John grinned just thinking about it. Knowing Scott though, he'd probably be all for just skipping the authorities and just killing them himself!

So, let them do their thing, and he and Alan just needed to get someplace safe. Preferably home. Then they could sort everything out. That settled in his mind, he joined his little brother in dreamland.


	7. Chapter Seven

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Gordon was in the Command and Control center watching yet another spectacular sunrise when the call came in. The sudden blinking on the vidphone's outside line coincided almost instantly with the line to Five.

"I think this is it," Virgil's voice came through. "Highly scrambled signal with a narrow, priority beam to the island. Way more security than anybody in their right mind would use for a regular call. Go ahead and answer it, Gordon. I'm on it, tracing and recording."

"FAB." Gordon hit the emergency klaxon and answered the vidphone.

The screen was black for a moment, then John came into view. It was a narrow shot of just his blindfolded face and what looked to be wooden beams behind him. It was unmistakably John though. And his voice.

"I, John Glenn Tracy, am to tell you to have ten million American dollars cash in unmarked, non-sequential, random mix of used one hundred, five hundred, and one thousand denomination bills. Have these ready to deliver upon the next transmission. Do not, under any circumstances, contact the authorities."

John finished speaking, and the video remained on his face for a few moments longer, then cut to black and disconnected.

"Did you get it?" Jeff's breathless voice asked from behind Gordon. Gordon had heard him come in but had stayed focused on the image.

"Yes!" Came Virgil's triumphant voice. "Western Washington State in the US. Brains will have it narrowed down even further by the time I get there." He paused, then added aggressively, "Who's coming up to get me?"

Gordon held his breath. He sure hoped his father hadn't changed his mind about Virgil coming down. Virgil didn't lose his temper often, but when he did, it was usually a mighty explosion.

"Scott, go get your brother."

"FAB, Father," came the quick, relieved reply, and Scott was through his portrait before he'd finished speaking.

Gordon exhaled. Bullet dodged. His father's commands continued. "Brains, get on that transmission. Narrow it down to within six feet."

"Yes sir."

"Gordon, go with him. I want to know terrain, population, weather . . . absolutely everything you can dig up."

Gordon nodded acknowledgement and got up to follow Brains.

Jeff continued almost absently. "And I'm going to contact the FBI and get the money ready." He looked up at Virgil on the screen, and at Gordon and Brains who had paused to listen to him. Jeff's intensity narrowed again. "Thunderbirds are go, boys. Let's get on it."

Everybody sprung into action. At last they were able to do something. The waiting was over.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

John came awake to the bright light of day. And the sound of voices. Memory came flooding back to him and he realized that he was hidden in a barn with his little brother, trying to escape from kidnappers. His arms tightened reflexively around Alan, still curled up tightly against his chest.

Alan muttered a sleepy, inarticulate protest at the tight grip, and started to wake up. "What . . ."

John quickly clamped a hand over his mouth and Alan began to struggle in resentment. He froze instantly as he woke up enough to register the sound of voices, and lifted his eyes to meet matching blue eyes. As they stared at each other, John removed his hand from Alan's mouth and put a finger to his lips. Alan nodded briefly as the voices floated up to them.

"No, Mike, I didn't, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had relatives visiting. Nephews, you say?"

A voice that both recognized from overhearing the conversation in the house the night before answered as John and Alan's eyes met again, Alan's eyes huge, and John's calculating.

"Yeah, my sister's kids, visiting from Texas. Both blond, blue eyed. One is a young teenager, the other in his mid twenties. Went running mid morning, and seem to have gotten lost."

"Well, that can happen in these parts. I'll keep my eyes open, okay?"

"Sounds great Jeb. I really appreciate it."

The sound of a car driving off echoed to their position, followed by footsteps up a gravel drive and the sound of a door slamming off in the distance.

John and Alan stared at each other for awhile, neither willing to make a move until they were sure they were alone. Finally Alan whispered, "I think they're gone."

"I think you're right." Releasing Alan, he gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and began to straighten up. Muscles protested, having long ago stiffened into a locked position. John's head pounded anew as he moved to an upright position, and his stomach protested. Good thing he hadn't eaten anything. He'd have lost it all over again. From the looks of things, Alan felt the same. His face was a really interesting shade of green, and his movements looked as jerky as John's felt.

John gave a involuntary shiver as a chill ran though him. They'd both slept in wet clothes last night and his still felt slightly damp. He'd just about kill for a hot shower right about now. Adding up the tally, John decided that all this rated pretty high on his misery meter.

As they both did their best to stretch, they gazed around. The ill fitting slats of the ancient barn let in a great deal of light, revealing a dismal, gray day. The heavy overcast threatened rain, but as of yet, hadn't released its moisture.

Alan pulled a crumpled wad of papers from his back pocket. Examining them for a moment, he read, "Dan Wheeler, Concrete Washington." He looked up at John. "Where the hell is Concrete, Washington?"

"Damned if I know," John muttered. "What is that?"

Alan turned it over to see if anything was on the other side. "Car registration I took last night," he muttered absently, handing it to John.

"Didn't you say something about a map as well?" John asked, accepting the crumpled piece of paper.

"Uh-huh. Here." Alan turned it over to his older brother who immediately spread it out on the hay. "Western Washington State," he noted, and proceeded to begin hunting for Concrete.

Alan plopped onto the bale next to the map and looked at the other registrations. "One for Mike Young of Concrete, and the last is for a Les Mathews of Hamilton, Washington." He shrugged and handed those over to John as well.

John took them, distracted, then his attention sharpened. "Here!" He said, pointing to a spot on the map. "Concrete." It was a tiny speck far from any major towns or cities.

Alan's eyes widened. "There?" he squeaked in disbelief. "That's in the middle of nowhere!"

"So," John commented dryly, "Apparently are we."

Alan had to admit to the logic of that.

"And here's Hamilton," he added, pointing to another tiny dot close to the first.

"Man, we are really out there," Alan commented.

"Well, we need to get out of the immediate vicinity," John continued. "Then see if we can contact the island, or just get home."

"Police?" Alan suggested.

"No." John explained his reasoning from the night before.

Alan nodded, agreeing with his thought process.

"Does it occur to you that maybe we're being just a little bit paranoid here?" John asked carefully.

Alan looked surprised, then pensive. "Maybe," he said with a frown, thinking about it some more. "Yeah, I think you're right." He looked at John, puzzled.

"I think it's maybe something to do with the drug they gave us."

"I guess," Alan said thoughtfully, "But you know, I really don't care. I just want to go home."

John couldn't argue with him. He felt the same.

Alan asked, "What about calling Tracy Enterprises?"

John shook his head. "Same problem. They'd contact local law enforcement. Even if she just contacted Dad, he'd probably call the police as well. No, we just don't know friend from foe. For all we know, this Mike Young or one of his bunch may be the sheriff. We only call if we can reach Dad directly. Nope, let's get out of here to someplace in civilization and regroup." Again, he knew something was wrong with his logic, but he just couldn't figure it out. Time to just roll with it. Home was the safest place to be, so that's where they'd go.

Alan agreed. "I'm all for that."


	8. Chapter Eight

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

By the time Scott returned from TB Five with Virgil, the second transmission regarding the ransom drop had just been received. It was noted, verified that it was the same location, and observed closely to make sure Alan looked alright, but other than that, it was essentially disregarded. The Tracys fully intended to have this completely wrapped up by the time the drop was scheduled. The ransom was only in case nothing else worked.

Gordon and Brains had narrowed the location down to a small town in the Cascade Mountains of Western Washington State called Concrete. ("Concrete? Who in the hell has ever heard of Concrete?" The answer was, nobody, apparently.) Gordon found that it was a small town that survived on lumber, of which there was plenty to be found. Lots and lots of trees abounded, a few farms, but not a lot else. The two of them managed to locate an ideal landing spot. It was out of the way, but close enough for hover sleds to be used.

While Gordon and Brains had been busy with the topography, Jeff had been occupied elsewhere. Having contacted Lady Penelope when the original transmission had arrived, he now contacted her once again regarding the actual location. Wanting somebody he trusted absolutely, he requested that she pick him up at the rendezvous site which had been selected just outside of Seattle. Since she had been in New York already, it was just a matter of getting from point A to point B, and she had been in route almost immediately.

Once the matter of his transportation settled, Jeff had contacted the bank in Seattle, arranging to have the cash assembled. It was only to be picked up if all else failed, but being a through man, he wanted all bases covered.

All that remained now was to have all the team members assembled. So as soon as Scott and Virgil landed, the four Tracys loaded into Thunderbird One. The jump seats weren't the most comfortable, but that was the last thing on anybody's mind at the moment. Brains remained as the sole inhabitant of Tracy Island, watching over communications and acting as a central base.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

By some careful scouting, John and Alan were able to leave the barn undetected, keeping a wary eye on the house. The small building was located well up a long driveway and half hidden by a stand of fir trees, so they were safe enough for the moment. They also found two cars, parked just behind the barn. Obviously these were secondary vehicles and not much used by the looks of them. One was a truck, and the other, an older, nondescript sedan with balding tires. The truck had a flat tire, so that was out.

Keeping a circumspect eye on the house for any sign of its occupant, John walked around the sedan, as his brother poked around on the driver's side. "Looks drivable," John commented. "Guess I'll just have to hot wire it."

The engine started up suddenly. John looked over in alarm as Alan's head popped out. "No problem. I just did." And with that, he disappeared back into the driver's seat.

John felt like a fish out of water. He knew his mouth was hanging open as he stared, frozen.

Alan popped back out again, looking irritated. "Well, aren't you coming?" Then disappeared again.

John shook himself into motion and went over to the driver's side door. Alan was sitting, buckled in and waiting.

"Over," John said firmly.

Alan looked stubborn. "No."

"Alan, you don't even have a driver's license. You're not even old enough for a learner's permit. Get over, I'm driving."

"No. I started it."

John closed his eyes in disbelief. Where was Scott when he needed him? He'd have gotten Alan moved over with one word. He was like Dad in that way. Unfortunately, John was not. "Alan. Now. I mean it."

"No. I'm driving. You don't like that, you don't have to come." Alan's face was a study in obstinacy.

"So help me, Alan, this is not the time or place for this. I swear I'll teach you drive myself when we get back home. But let's just get home. Now MOVE!"

"No." Alan looked forward through the windshield, and started the car rolling.

John swore words a sailor would have envied as the car slid by, and with one last uneasy glance at the quiet house, he turned and bolted for the passenger side as the car passed him. Sliding into it as the car was moving was no easy feat, but he managed as the car picked up speed. By the time he had the door shut, the car was out on the highway and moving at a rapid clip.

"Alan, when we get stopped, you are forever going to rue the day you pulled this crap. Scott's not the only one who knows how to dish it out," John spit out.

"I don't care," Alan said, looking defiant. He continued mulishly. "Besides, I'm a better driver than you are."

John looked at his little brother in dumbfounded amazement. This really took the cake. "How the hell can you be a better driver than I am? You don't even know how to drive," he shouted, getting madder by the minute. "Alan, in one minute, I'm going to push you out that door, moving or not!"

"You just try it!" Alan shouted back.

John had had it. Tracy temper met Tracy temper. Snarling, he stretched his leg over the manual gear shift and kicked Alan's feet off the pedals, startling him. Stomping onto the brake, without engaging the clutch of the manual transmission, the car stalled and quit, right in the middle of the road.

"What'd you do that for?" Alan said furiously. 'Now I have to hotwire it again."

"Out. NOW!" John disengaged his foot, then leaned over his brother and reached to open the driver's side door. "Get out or I'll push you out. And then I'm going to pound you into the pavement!"

"Oh, no you won't! You'll have to catch me . . ." Alan cut his loud tirade off right in mid sentence. "Shit," he said quietly.

John, caught in mid yell by the suddenness of Alan's stillness, looked where Alan was looking. Right into the startled faces of two men, sitting in a car stopped directly opposite them. A car that Alan had stolen the distributor cap from the night before. And they both recognized one of the men as the man in the room at the farmhouse. Apparently, the recognition was mutual.

Alan dove into motion, ducking under the steering column. Before John could even register the movement, the engine was running again, and they were moving smoothly at a very fast pace down the road. It seemed that Alan did indeed know how to drive.

The car continued to pick up speed and entered a curved section of the road. Alan didn't even slow down. He skidded around the tight bend on the narrow two-lane highway. John was staring openmouthed at his 15-year-old brother. Fastening his seatbelt he looked at the speedometer. Then looked away at the road again. He preferred to believe that the speed he saw was not accurate. But as fast as the trees were blurring by, it probably was. Looking behind him, he could see the car still in pursuit.

Alan's concentration on the road was absolute, as was his control of the car. Apparently, somewhere along the line that John (and he would bet money that the rest of his family) knew nothing about, Alan had learned to drive. And drive like a race car driver.

Nudging the car to still faster speeds, he got everything he could out of the ancient engine. As they hit an open spot on the road, breaking out of the hills into a valley, Alan double clutched, worked the stick shift like a pro, then stomped on the gas sending the car rocketing forward. All a stunned John could think of was that Alan was right – he did drive better than he himself did.

"How did you learn to drive like this?" John shouted over the sound of the engine. "You're not even old enough to have a learner's permit! And who in the hell taught you to hotwire a car!"

Alan spared him a quick glance, then returned his attention to the road. "You really don't want to know."

John reflected on this. Alan was right, he probably didn't.

"How far behind us are they?"

John glanced back again. "Just breaking out of the curves right now."

Alan muttered something under his breath and urged the car to still greater speeds.

John closed his eyes. He was just going to pretend he didn't hear that. His father was going to kill him for letting Alan behind the wheel of a car when they got home. If they got home after this wild ride. And what was left of him, Scott would happily finish off. And when his father and older brother were done with him, John was going to take his frustrations out on Alan's hide.

The chase continued in a stalemate for longer than John thought would be possible. The kidnappers in their superior truck were just not a match for Alan's superior driving. John wouldn't have believed it himself had he not been in the car watching it all unfold. "Can we wrap this up please?" He finally asked. John had the feeling that Alan was enjoying all of this a little too much.

"I'll see what I can do," his brother replied. Alan shot out of a straight stretch into a tight left hand bend, and before John even saw it, he'd swung the car into a right turn off the highway, climbing up into the hills.

"How did you know that turn was there. . ." John started, then broke off.

"I saw the road sign," Alan answered grimly, trying to keep the speeding car on the wet, slippery road, and not tell his brother he was an idiot.

John got the point and shut up. He looked behind them again and saw nothing. He began to turn back forward again at his brother's quick curse, then there was nothing more.


	9. Chapter Nine

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER NINE**

"John!"

Man, he was tired.

"John, come on."

No. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"John. Wake up. Now!"

Younger brothers were pests. They just never left you alone.

"John. Please!"

The tone in his youngest brother's voice finally penetrated. Fear. What was Alan afraid of? He'd better find out.

He opened his eyes to see Alan's white face staring at him. He blinked as a blinding headache hit him.

"Alan?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Alan's voice responded shakily, thick with relief. "You okay?"

"Huh?" John said, trying desperately to clear his head. He looked around, and the memories came flooding back. The car was off the road, sideways in a ditch. The windshield was covered with mud splatter, and all he could see was wet, green foliage.

"I said, are you okay?" Alan asked worriedly. "You hit your head pretty hard."

He had to quit doing that. Twice in less than 48 hours was just too much. "Yeah, I think so. How long was I out?"

"Just a couple of minutes."

"You okay?" John turned to really look at his little brother for the first time, and his eyes narrowed. Alan was absolutely white.

"I think I may have broken my collarbone," Alan admitted carefully.

John released his seatbelt and shifted in his seat, wincing at his headache. Noting the way Alan held his left arm against his chest, it looked as though he might have. Carefully shifting Alan's shirt, he looked at the mismatching ends of his collarbone under the skin and whistled softly. "You sure did." And another quick glance at his arm, he added, "Looks like you broke your wrist too. Braced yourself, huh?"

"Shit," Alan muttered.

John ignored him and shifted again, giving an involuntary gasp of pain. At Alan's worried look he smiled reassuringly. "Shoulder belt. Kept me from going through the windshield, but I'm sure going to hurt."

Alan nodded in understanding.

"Well, looks like I'll be doing the driving from now on, thank heavens. I'm not letting you behind the wheel of a car ever again. That took years off my life."

Alan grinned in spite of the pain. "Yeah, but I lost 'em, didn't I?"

John snorted and shook his head, not finding anything remotely funny about it. "Yeah, you sure did. And nearly lost us too. Well, let's get ourselves regrouped, and see if we can get underway again." He paused and then turned to his brother again, this time looking harsh.

"And so help me Alan, if you ever, EVER pull anything even remotely like your little temper tantrum back there on me ever again, I swear, I'll fillet you. And then I'll turn you over to Dad." He ignored Alan's shocked look at his disregard of the other unwritten Tracy brothers rule – handle things among themselves, and leave their father out of it if at all possible.

"And you know exactly what he'll do," John continued furiously. He looked at Alan knowingly, as he brother slunk deeper into the seat at his words. Oh, yeah. Alan knew all right. He probably wouldn't live to see 16. "Do you understand me?"

"But I drive better than you," Alan muttered, defiant as ever, although the picture was somewhat marred by his clutching his left arm against his chest in order to keep the broken ends of his collarbone from grating together.

John shut his eyes and counted to ten. "I don't care." He said distinctly through gritted teeth. Alan wasn't the only Tracy with a stubborn streak and a temper (although he rarely showed it), and John had thoroughly had it. "Do you understand? And you'd better say yes if you know what's good for you."

Alan looked surreptitiously at his brother. John looked really, really pissed. "Yeah," he muttered sullenly.

"I didn't hear you. And don't push it, Alan," John warned, a hairs breath away from carrying out his threats here and now. He'd had a long hard 36 hours, and he'd had enough, his brother's broken collarbone or not.

Alan finally seemed to get the picture, and pulled back from the brink of disaster just in time. "Yeah, I hear you." He said, then looked away out the window.

"Good," John said succinctly.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Although in real time, Thunderbird One made exceptional speed, the perception to the inhabitants was significantly different. Jeff, attired in business clothes and ready to recruit the FBI to his needs, watched the clouds pass by without really seeing them. His thoughts were solely on his missing sons.

Scott focused on flying and the prospect of action ahead. His every movement was tightly controlled and planned. Like the intimidating, unrelieved flight suit he wore, his manner was formidable.

Gordon was, well Gordon. He was fidgety. The waiting was driving him crazy. Fishing in one of the small compartments of his carry-all, he pulled out a small, yellow Hot-Wheel car. He'd hung onto it because it reminded him of Thunderbird Four – yellow with orange markings. And also because he usually had some small odds and ends with him just to relieve boredom, and also because he never knew when something would come in handy to annoy a brother or two. So it was either the car or a super ball. Deciding that the super ball might cause more trouble than he was willing to handle right now, he chose the car.

He amused himself by driving it up the back of Virgil's seat as he tried to keep his mind off of his missing brothers, and the possibilities of what they would find when they arrived at the kidnappers. Ignoring the growing irritation of his brother, Gordon began to slowly relax. At least until Virgil turned around and smacked the small car out of his hand.

"Hey," Gordon yelped in indignation.

"We'll just call you Alan!" Virgil growled as he turned back around. "Act you age. At least Alan has an excuse. He IS a kid. And just don't ask if we're 'there yet'."

Gordon smiled slightly to himself. Worked every time. Momentary diversion for both himself and Virgil accomplished, at least for the moment. He began to look around for something else to take his mind off their circumstances.

"Don't," the firm, quiet voice of his parent said from next to him.

Gordon turned in surprise to see his father looking at him sternly. He opened his mouth to deny everything, but was cut off.

Jeff's voice was quiet enough not to carry any farther than to Gordon, but it was clear enough. "Don't do it. I know this is your way of relieving your stress, Gordon, but it's not good for any of you right now. Try to find another, more constructive way."

Gordon shut his mouth, chagrined. He just nodded at his father. His Dad was right. It might relieve his stress, but creating more aggravation right now was not a good idea.

"Thank you," was Jeff's quiet reply. "There'll be time enough to get Scott and Virgil to lighten up later, and one way or another, they'll need the outlet. But not right now."

Gordon nodded again, meeting his father's eyes. Jeff gave him a tight smile and turned back to the windows. Gordon tried a different way of passing the time. This time he decided he would plan exactly how he wanted to go about pulverizing the individuals holding his brothers.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

John and Alan, between the two of them, had managed to locate a basic first aid kit in the trunk and get themselves fixed up as best they could. John immobilized Alan's arm against his chest using strips of a blanket he found in the trunk, taking care of both the collar bone and wrist at the same time. Alan was able to determine that John didn't have a concussion, just another goose egg to add to his collection, and a couple of possible broken ribs. After downing the aspirin that they found in the first aid kit, John looked to the car.

After looking the situation over, he was able determine that he could probably just drive it forward out of the ditch. Apart from the mud and the cracked windshield, nothing appeared damaged. Alan told John that between the wet roads and the bald tires, the car had just slid off the road. However, they had been going fast enough for the two of them to be bounced around quite a bit.

"Okay. What do you want to do?" John asked as soon as they were both sitting in the car in the afternoon light. The strained atmosphere had dissipated, and the brothers were back to interacting normally. John was actually able to talk to his brother without wanting to throttle him, and Alan had finally finished sulking.

"The way I see it, we have two choices. We can call the authorities when we get to someplace civilized and have them deal with this. Or, we can get to the nearest airport where we have a hanger, go home and deal with everything from there." John knew his choice, but they were in this together, so he figured he'd better ask.

"Go home," Alan said tiredly. "I mean, I know we should go to the police, but do you really want to try and explain who we are and why we stole a car? I don't. Let's let Dad do it."

John chuckled. "I like the way you think. My sentiments exactly. Airport it is. Where our nearest hanger? Any clues?"

"Uh-uh," Alan muttered tiredly. "Do we have anything in Washington anyway?" he asked doubtfully.

John snapped his fingers. "Seattle. We have a jet based in Seattle."

"Are you sure?" Alan asked, looking at him quizzically.

"Yep. I've flown in here to Microsoft with Brains a couple of times."

"Good. Then we don't have to steal a plane too."

John gave a snort of laughter. "Okay, let's get the map, figure out where we are, and get this show on the road."

Alan sat up carefully. "Wait."

John looked at him. "What?"

"There's one more thing we need to do."

John eyed him in trepidation.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

"Alan," John commented in amazement as Alan was trying to switch the license plates on their stolen car with a plate he'd lifted off of a similar car they had located in remote park and ride. They had finally reached Interstate-5 after about an hours drive. Alan had insisted on pulling over at the out of the way park and ride just off the freeway along a predominately rural stretch of highway. There, he'd located a model similar to their generic sedan and lifted the license plates.

"What?" He said, preoccupied, as he tried to change the plates with one hand.

"You scare me sometimes."

"Would you just help!" Alan snapped back.

John sighed and took over. "What on earth made you think of this?"

"Well, we're driving a stolen car. And it's going to take a good couple of hours to get to this Boeing Field place where you said we have a plane if the map is right. Do you really want to get pulled over? I mean, neither of us has a driver's license on us. It will be tomorrow, if then, before they realize the plates are switched." He paused for a second, then added thoughtfully, "Do we need gas?"

John shook his head in bemusement, trying to follow his brother's twisted logic as he worked on the plates, at the same time keeping a look out for any prying eyes. That didn't seem to be an issue. It was the middle of the afternoon, and there wasn't a soul around. It made sense, since these were probably predominately commuter vehicles.

"I don't think so. We've got a little under half a tank. From the looks of the map, it's only a couple of hours drive, and this car is one of those economy jobs. Good thing too, since we don't have any money." He stopped and looked suspiciously at Alan. "Why? Do you have any bright ideas?"

Alan smiled. "Well, because now would be a good time to siphon some for another car. We've got a whole park and ride to choose from."

John closed his eyes in pain for a moment. 'I just had to ask . . .' Where on earth had this kid come from? Couldn't possibly have come from the same gene pool as the rest of his straight arrow family. Well, except maybe Gordon. He was also seriously wondering if his brother was actually going to live to grow up, and where on earth he was getting his information. Once again, he wasn't at all sure he really wanted to know.

"Alan, in response to your first comment, you don't even have a driver's license to begin with." He sat back for a moment and looked pointedly at his brother as Alan immediately looked cagey. He'd have to get to the bottom of this later; fake IDs were all too easy to come by. "And two, I suppose we've already fallen into a life of crime. We may as well compound it with the stolen license plates."

Alan snickered.

"And third, how do you even know how to siphon gas?"

Alan just tightened his lips, and shrugged.

"Right. I don't want to know," John groaned, and turned his attention back to the license plates. How could a kid look so angelic and be so incredibly devious?

"Well, you really don't," Alan pointed out logically.

"Okay, I'm done." John stood up and stretched. He really had the mother of all headaches, and his little brother certainly wasn't helping any. And he still felt like he wasn't firing on all cylinders mentally, certainly not enough to keep up with Alan right now.

In addition, he was developing limitless admiration for his father, and was going to make sure he told him so when they finally got back home. Had the rest of them ever been this bad? Well, again, possibly Gordon. No wonder those two were so close.

He looked thoughtfully at Alan. "And I'm not sure I want to know this either, but do you have any thoughts on what you want to do about our kidnappers?" John asked with real interest. This ought to be good.

Alan shrugged as he got back into the car. John closed his door, then climbed into the driver's side and helped his little brother with the seatbelt since he couldn't do it with his left arm immobilized. "By this time," Alan answered, "I'm guessing that Virg has traced all the transmissions. Let's just let Scott take care of them. He's probably in overdrive by now anyway. Let him work his adrenaline off. Do him good."

John burst out laughing. Alan was right. Scott would be in total big-brother, over-protective mode. He'd mop the floor with them. "You certainly take the prize for creative thinking, Alan," he said, still laughing.

Alan grinned back. "I have four older brothers, remember? You only have one. I need to deflect 'em any chance I can."

John grinned back. "Are you sure you don't want tojust go back and wait for them?"

"Nope," Alan said tiredly. "Let'slet them have all the fun. I don't want to run into those bozos again. I'm not up for it. I feel lousy. I just want to go home."

Since his response echoed exactly what John was feeling, he just nodded, and agreed. "Let's go home then."

"Bet we beat 'em back."


	10. Chapter Ten

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER TEN**

The rendezvous with Penny went off without a hitch, and in no time at all, FAB-1, chauffeured by Parker was on its way with Jefferson Tracy, billionaire businessman, and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. Gordon could see his father already on his cell phone before they even pulled away from the rendezvous site. Creating havoc at the Federal Building from the look of it, of that Gordon had no doubt.

It suddenly surprised him to realize that he may have gotten his ability to work out schemes and complex pranks from his father. Thinking about what Jeff was planning to do with the FBI, using them for his own plans, made him realize that they were not that different. Jeff just worked on a much bigger scale.

Grinning to himself, he thought that the FBI didn't stand a chance. They'd never know what hit them. Jefferson Tracy, all riled up, was a force to be reckoned with, as his sons all had cause to know. This situation definitely qualified. The puppet master was at work, and even angry, Jefferson Tracy was as subtle a magician at pulling the strings as there ever was. Gordon could only hope that when he reached his father's age, he was as skilled as father.

The red-haired Tracy's attention was brought back to the present as Scott lifted Thunderbird One off the ground with his usual skill. Gordon watched as FAB-1 disappeared rapidly into a pinpoint dot, then vanish altogether. The trip upstate was made in a matter of minutes with the Thunderbird, and Scott made another textbook perfect landing at the predetermined spot.

The silence of the trip was finally broken as Scott climbed out of the pilots seat and began issuing orders. "Get your weapons and hover sleds. We have one hour to do what we need to do. John and Alan are our first priority. Then we can exact a little satisfaction before Dad and the FBI helijet in."

Gordon opened his mouth to tell Scott that he was preaching the choir, as well as stating the obvious, but a quick shake of Virgil's head made him think better of it. Scott could be incredibly irritating in this mood, but Virg was right – now was not the time to call him on it.

In silence, they went about getting themselves prepared. Charcoal gray gloves and dark helmets with tinted, one-way mirrored visors completed their attire. A closed circuit intercom system was imbedded in the helmets for them to communicate, but they were all aware that the less they spoke the better. Soft conversations could be heard outside the helmets if they weren't careful. They all knew without saying that they were no longer International Rescue, they were a clandestine, purposeful strike force with one goal: get their own out of harms way.

It was only a matter of moments before they were at the site. A small farmhouse with a single outbuilding. There were three vehicles parked haphazardly in the yard. Gordon looked incredulously at the scene. This was where his brothers were being held? At least, this was where the transmissions had originated from. This was going to be embarrassingly easy. He had pictured some kind of walled fortress. Glancing at his brothers, Gordon couldn't tell if they were feeling the same, as the mirrored helmets made them impersonal. And frightening. Gordon was suddenly glad he was on their side. He shivered and turned his attention back to the house.

Following Scott's hand signals, the three dispersed around the perimeter. They silently checked the shop, the cars, and anything else in the late afternoon light that might hide a guard. Invisibly they converged at the house, pressing against the side, blending like shadows against the peeling, weather-beaten paint.

"No sign of John or Alan," Gordon whispered.

"Somebody was in the shop at some point, but not now. There were several sets of footprints in the dust, including a very clear print of those fancy running shoes of Alan's," Virgil reported.

Gordon winced. Those shoes were very distinctive (and very expensive) and had been the cause of a great deal of consternation in the Tracy household. Alan had desperately wanted a pair, and had been beside himself when Gordon had received a pair for his birthday. Alan had finally gotten his own pair when his birthday rolled around a few weeks later, to the relief of the rest of his brothers. Peace had finally reigned once more.

"It looks like somebody moved the workbench not too long ago as well. And there was a pair of handcuffs on the floor next to it," Virgil continued.

None of them needed to say anything much after that. They were in the right place. Alan at least had been in the shop at some point, based on the shoe prints.

"That just leaves the house," Scott grimly replied.

They fell silent for a moment, listening for any sounds they could hear. Anonymous faces turned as one as the indistinct sounds of an argument floated towards them through the afternoon air. Following Scott's signal, they moved silently around the house until they were close enough to hear more clearly.

A few words and sentences came through, mainly about something going drastically wrong. Gordon's blood chilled at that. He didn't want to think about anything going wrong. He would love to get his hands on the owners of the voices. Not long now, he forced himself to wait with patience.

"Three," Scott said softly, listening.

Virgil's visor nodded. "Not John's or Alan's though," was his soft comment.

"No," Scott agreed.

"They sure seem upset about something," Virgil muttered.

"John and Alan," Gordon suggested, humor filtering through even his adrenaline filled worry. Even restrained, he could imagine the havoc they could create.

"Maybe," Scott answered, completely devoid of amusement.

Gordon winced. Big brother in action. This would be impressive. Even for Scott, he was cranked up way beyond anything Gordon had ever seen. All they had to do now was to keep Scott from killing these morons. If something had happened to either John or Alan, he wasn't all that sure that they would be able to restrain him. He stole a quick glance over at Virgil, whose mirrored visor met his. Gordon didn't even need to see Virgil's face to know that he was thinking the exact same thing.

"Ok, let's move," Scott commanded. Using hand signals, he directed his brothers to their positions.

Gordon's adrenaline began to pump as action was finally in the wind.

On Scott's signal, they burst into the house and were practically on top of the three arguing men before they noticed that they were there. All in all, it was an incredibly un-satisfying take-down.

Although they probably could have restrained them without a punch being thrown, all three Tracy brothers managed to get a few licks in while handcuffing the men to their chairs. However, they still had more important things on their minds.

"Where are they?" Scott's filtered voice was loud in the sudden stillness to the stunned men.

"Who?" A sturdy dark-haired man tried to bluff.

Scott's sudden blow broke his nose without a seconds hesitation.

The internal microphone clicked on again. "Virg, check upstairs." Virgil headed for the stairs immediately.

Gordon could just imagine how it must have looked to the kidnappers. The only words they would have heard the entire time was Scott's question.

"Nothing, Scott," Virgil's strained voice answered. They could hear him coming down again, and moving through the rest of the house. "They aren't here!"

"Shit," Gordon heard himself exclaim. He was moving forward towards a younger, unkempt blond man seemingly without violation as he heard Scott's whip-crack question again.

"Where are they!" The question was followed by the sound of a hard body blow.

The man Gordon was approaching determinedly looked at him in fear and blurted, "They escaped! Sometime last night. I swear! They had a car. I saw them myself!"

"Shut up, you fool," the third man, a dark man in his mid thirties hissed. He had the misfortune of drawing Scott's attention to him with that comment. He looked at the menacing figure towering over him without fear. "Yes, they escaped. But we have them again. You won't find them."

Gordon caught his breath as Scott loomed ominously over the man. Scott, like all of the rest of them, had had a tough six months. Alan missing once was bad enough. But now, John and Alan both missing was enough to send all of them over the edge. And Scott had the 'big brother complex' to go with it – he was just sure that if he'd been more diligent, none of this would have happened. Bull, in Gordon's opinion, but that was just Scott. Scott was just about ready to murder this man, Gordon had no doubt whatsoever.

The internal microphone clicked again. "Virg, you and Gordon go search the house. See if you can find any sign of where they might be."

Gordon hesitated. Virgil didn't. "Five minutes Scott. Don't kill him."

"What do you take me for?" Scott's cold voice answered.

Gordon shivered as Virgil turned to carry out his orders, apparently convinced that Scott was in his right mind. Gordon followed more slowly, not nearly as convinced.

Exiting the room, Virgil and Gordon turned in opposite directions, splitting up the house. Between the two of them, they turned the place inside out, unconcerned about subtly. They worked their way through the shabbily furnished rooms, all the while keeping a wary ear tuned towards the interrogation in the other room.

Gordon took out his frustrations on the furniture, working off his tension by overturning tables and dumping drawers. It wasn't until he spied a familiar wallet atop a messy table in the kitchen that Gordon felt the tension crystallize to a slow, burn deep inside. His focus narrowed to a laser-intense beam as he found a second wallet, along with two very familiar 'watches'.

It was the last items he found though, that sent him moving before he was aware of it. He didn't even realize what he was doing until he'd landed a very satisfying blow to the middle of the blond's face. If that didn't break his nose, then he'd lost his touch. Shaking his stinging hand, he looked towards Scott, and Virgil who'd followed him back into the room.

Scott, dark flight suit liberally stained with blood and sweat, turned away from a far less cocky kidnapper. "What did you find?" Scott asked via the internal communications system, nodding towards the bundle in Gordon's hand. "This jerk doesn't know anything. John and Alan are gone. Apparently escaped."

In response, Gordon dropped the wallets and wristcomms onto the floor. After a pause to make sure all eyes were on him, he dropped the rest of his finds. Two capped, used syringes plus a bloody rag landed on the floor next to the wallets.

"Why you . . " came Scott's guttural growl as he finally lost it, launching himself at the dark haired, apparent leader. It took the combined efforts of Virgil and Gordon to keep him from beating the man to a pulp.

"Scott, knock it off! We have to go! Dad and the FBI will be here any minute," Virgil urged quietly, but with an intensity that managed to reach his still enraged brother.

Shaking off their arms, Scott took a deep breath and nodded. Without a look back, he headed for the door, Virgil and Gordon trailing behind him. As they left on the hover sleds, they heard the sounds of helijets in the distance. Just in time.

Back at Thunderbird One, the subdued brothers shucked off their helmets and gloves. A frustrated Virgil ran his hand through his hair.

"If they escaped, they should be around here. Why didn't they come out? Or call?" he finished in undeniable worry.

"And what was the stuff they were shot up with?" Gordon added.

Scott was in the process of doing a quick computer scan. "Nobody matching John's or Alan's bio scan anywhere in the vicinity."

"Where the hell are they?" Gordon growled in frustration. "Are you sure that guy wasn't right? That they actually did recapture them?"

"I'm sure." Scott's voice was ice cold and just as firm. Virgil and Gordon looked at him for a moment, then looked away. They didn't doubt him.

"We'd better get to the rendezvous point," Virgil said, depressed.

Gordon felt the same way, as Scott lifted off in silence. He didn't look forward to informing their father that John and Alan were sill missing.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

John Tracy was not even surprised when his little brother deftly picked the lock with one hand on the Tracy Hanger at Boeing Field. "Let me guess. Parker."

Alan smiled. "What do you think? You guys left him to baby-sit me often enough."

John snorted. "I can't believe that we're going to unleash you on an unsuspecting world."

Alan grinned. "I've learned lots from my various babysitters."

John shuddered. And this was the 'vulnerable' youngest?

John entered and looked around the hanger. "Full circle . . ."

Alan blanched and looked at him. "I'm going to check the office . . ."

John laughed. "You do that. I'll start the pre-flight checks."

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

It was a very quiet trio of brothers who waited the several hours it took until Jeff arrived back at the meeting point. During that time conversations began in fits and starts as one or another tried to brainstorm about the location of their missing family members. But each idea fizzled out into silence as they reached a dead end.

Discouragement, and the let down that came from the aftermath of a concluded action added to the disheartenment of the boys. Adding a thoroughly unsatisfactory ending to the take-down (except for maybe Scott) just completed the depression. But the worst was going to be explaining to Jeff why his two missing sons weren't there.

Brains was contacted and filled in. His negative answer to their query about any communication from John and Alan only added to the overall gloom.

"It's too bad we couldn't at least have taken their wallets," Gordon mused.

"Don't be stupid," Scott snapped. "We had to leave all of it for Dad and the FBI."

"Don't yell at me," an aggrieved Gordon shot back. "I know! I just don't like it."

"Lay off," Virgil said tiredly, trying to stave off the escalating argument.

"Oh great! Take his side, like always," Gordon irritably returned. "And give me my car back," he added as an afterthought, suddenly remembering his missing Hot-Wheel.

"Oh, for . . ." Scott began in frustration. He was cut off by the unmistakable sound of FAB-1 approaching.

"Crap," Scott said quietly.

Silence filled the cockpit again as cheerful voices approached.

"Time to pay the piper," Virgil groaned as they all got up to exit Thunderbird One and meet their father.

To Gordon, it was heartbreaking to see his father's face change from anticipation to dismay, as one by one they climbed down the ladder to stand in a ragged line in front of him. When the expected remaining two didn't appear, Jeff turned white.

"What happened?" He asked harshly. "I told the FBI that my personal security team had traced and extracted the boys. So where are they?"

Penny's hand was covering her mouth in dismay, her eyes huge, as she stood next to Jeff.

"They weren't there, Dad. They'd escaped," Scott said quietly.

"Says who?" Jeff snapped, worry overriding everything. "The kidnappers?" He asked in disbelief.

"Trust me, they weren't lying," Scott snapped back, his own frustration showing.

"DAMMIT!" Jeff shouted and began pacing. "So where the hell are they!"

The three boys remained prudently silent. Penny laid her hand on Jeff's arm. "I suggest that you return to the island, Jeff, and begin work from there. Raging about this is not going to help. You're worn out." She looked around at the Tracy boys. "You all are."

Jeff looked as though he wanted to argue. His sons held their breath, waiting to see which way he'd go. But as always, Penny managed to make their father see reason. Sighing deeply, he said, "You're right, of course. We can start tracking and tracing from there. Thank you for your help, Penny."

"Of course. I'll keep working on my end."

"Thank you."

It was a very depressed group who embarked on Thunderbird One. What should have been a joyous trip home, was instead a silent, strained journey.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

John was glad to see Tracy Island come into view. Looking over at Alan, who was fast asleep in the co-pilots seat, he smiled. Home again. At last. This had been one of the hardest flights he'd ever made. Keeping his eyes open had been a struggle. Thank heavens for auto-pilot. At least it was over.

Opening communications with the island, he was amazed that no one answered. Shrugging, he just landed in the deep, dark of the night, thankful that the landing lights were on, for who knew what reason. Right now, frankly, he was just too tired to wonder much about it. He was just grateful that they were on.

John woke Alan, and together, they both managed to climb stiffly out of the plane, overused muscles protesting mightily. They wandered blindly into the house, about as exhausted as they ever had been. They finally ran into somebody in the kitchen. Brains about fainted dead away when he saw them. After a brief explanation, he herded them down to the Infirmary, explaining that he'd missed their call. Everybody else was off trying to rescue them.

John just laughed wearily and let Brains look him over. Then as John changed into nightclothes, the scientist turned his attention to a drowsy Alan. He had nearly fallen asleep again as he waited for Brains to finish with John. He woke up rapidly, however, as Brains began to work on setting and casting his wrist. Together the two men got the complaining Alan changed into pajamas, then immobilized his arm.

After hearing about the drugging episode, Brains also insisted on drawing blood from each of them. John just resignedly called him a vampire and let him do it. Even Alan was too drained to really protest much. But as Brains urged both of the exhausted Tracys' into bed, Alan got typically stubborn.

"Not until Dad gets back," was his mulish comment.

Looking carefully at his younger brother, John could see he was nearly at his breaking point. He was about to launch into a major tantrum at any moment. Hurricane Alan returns. John sighed. He didn't blame him. He knew he was at the end of his limits, too. It had been a harrowing forty-eight hours, and neither one of them was thinking right. But now they were safe, they could finally let down. They both desperately needed to see their family, just as much as the other Tracys probably needed to see them.

"We'll wait in the study, Brains," John said tiredly.

Alan looked at him gratefully, shutting his mouth, explosion deflected, as Brains prepared to argue.

"No. We need to see them," John said with uncharacteristic firmness.

Brains gave in after that. John Tracy was tough to argue with even on a good day. When he felt this lousy, everybody skirted him widely. Although he seldom lost it, his temper could rival Alan's, which was clearly hair-triggered at the moment.

Ruffling his younger brother's hair, and laughing to himself as all Alan could manage to do was move slightly sideways in irritation, the two battered Tracy brothers all but staggered out of the Infirmary. Brains just shook his head, following them into the Command and Control Center.

Alan drifted over to one couch and collapsed onto it with a moan, wincing in pain. That had not been a good move. He curled up on his side, clutching his arm tightly to his chest. John moved slowly to the other, and dropped onto it. Slouching down bonelessly, he adjusted his head until he found a position, that if not exactly comfortable, was at least tolerable. His ribs complained however he sat.

Brains moved to contact Jeff Tracy. Before he could even reach to activate the microphone, the two Tracys were asleep.

Brains was interrupted by the sound of Scott Tracy's voice.

"Thunderbird One to Base."

"This is, uh, Base. Go ahead Thunderbird One."

"Returning to Base. Requesting clearance to land for Thunderbird One."

"Clearance approved. And, uh, Mr. Tracy . . ."

"Later Brains," came Jeff Tracy's tired voice. "We'll be there in a minute."

"But Mr. Tracy", Brains tried again.

"He said later, Brains," Scott's voice said with an irritated edge to it.

"Ok, uh, see you in a, uh, few minutes." Brains gave up. He smiled wryly at the two other Tracy boys in the room with him, sound asleep. This was going to be fun.


	12. Chapter Twelve & Epilogue

Hornet's Nest

By Spense

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

The exhausted and depressed remaining members of the Tracy clan stopped dead in their tracks as they exited from the lifts behind their portraits. Their missing members were sound asleep on the couches in the room. Brains looked over at them and smiled. "I, uh, tried to tell you."

"How . . ." Virgil finally began.

Then they all began to speak at once. The commotion woke John with a moan as his headache flared. Sitting upright rather creakily, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands, moaning "Keep it down! Please."

Jeff finally found that he could move and was kneeling in front of his son in seconds, placing a hand on his shoulder. "John . . . what . . . how. . . ?"

John looked up and met his father's eyes. "You wouldn't believe it, Dad. You just wouldn't." Looking at his stunned father, he continued. "Did you get them?"

Jeff ignored the question for the moment and instead glanced quickly at Brains. Brains nodded his reassurance back to the Tracy patriarch. "They're both somewhat, uh, worse for wear, a few, uh, broken bones, but they'll be, uh, fine. They're both more exhausted than, uh, anything."

"What about the drugs?" Virgil asked, concerned.

Brains didn't even ask how they knew. "I have tests on, uh, their blood running now. But, uh, again, there doesn't seem to be any, uh, cause for concern."

Jeff, although wincing at the 'broken bones' comment, was somewhat more relieved than before. He looked over at the other couch. Scott and Gordon were already looking over Alan, who hadn't woken up, even with all of the commotion.

He looked back at John and finally answered his question with a smile. "Yes, we did." His smile deepened to a grin of genuine amusement. "They kept saying something about 'we didn't expect this'".

John laughed, then moaned again as his headache stabbed. "I'm sure they didn't."

Virgil shook his head. "I always thought if you and Alan ever collaborated on something, it was really going to screw up somebody's day. I just always thought it would be Gordon though."

Gordon looked up from where he was standing looking worriedly at Alan, and said indignantly, "Hey!"

Jeff laughed, squeezed John's shoulder and looked over at Scott. "Well?"

Scott knelt in front of the other couch checking over his little brother, his flight suit still stained from the exertions of last several hours, and his recent encounter with the kidnappers. Placing the back of his hand on his youngest brother's forehead, then his cheek, he frowned, then muttered a slight 'damn'. Alan didn't even stir. "Dad, I think he's running a temp."

John sighed. "I'm not surprised. It's been an . . . interesting couple of days."

Brains just nodded. "I don't believe it's anything serious, Mr. Tracy."

"Okay, thank you, Brains." He smiled at the man, then turned back to John. "I'm definitely going to want the whole story, but right now, you look done in. You need to sleep. So is there anything I need to know right now, that can't wait until morning?" Jeff asked, helping John to his feet as he winced, and held his ribs.

"No," John said thoughtfully. "I don't think so."

Jeff nodded, and still supporting his son, turned to Scott. "Take Alan down to the infirmary, and put him to bed. We'll be right behind you."

Scott nodded, and gathered up his brother, who woke up just enough to realize that something was happening.

"Easy sprout, everything's okay, I'm just taking you to bed."

Alan nodded slightly as he recognized Scott, and wrapped his good arm around his older brother's neck. He closed his eyes against the dizziness, as he felt himself carried out of the room and eventually laid on one of the beds in the infirmary. Opening his eyes, he looked sleepily at his oldest brother, as Scott pulled the covers up around him, gently tucking him in.

"Told John we'd beat you home," he commented briefly, then closed his eyes again, asleep almost at once.

For the first time in over two days, Scott found himself able to laugh.

_**TB TB TB TB TB**_

Jeff Tracy made his way quietly into the infirmary in the early morning the next day. Although the remaining conscious Tracy's had made a decision that nobody needed to stay up with John and Alan since everybody was exhausted, and Brain's was certain that there was no cause for concern, Jeff found that he was still unable to sleep.

Stopping at the first bed, he looked at John. Sprawled on his back, taking up the whole bed, he looked totally relaxed, aside from the slight tightness at his mouth and furrowing on his brow. Headache, Jeff thought. Well, that would be the case for awhile from what Brains had said. He was just grateful that that would be the only aftereffect. The early morning sunlight streaming through the windows made no difference to John. He was deeply and thoroughly asleep, his breathing slow and even.

Mind at ease about John, Jeff moved to the next bed which held his youngest. Unlike John, Alan was curled tightly in a fetal position, protecting his broken wrist and collar bone even in sleep. Jeff could only make out the top of his head under the blanket. Smiling, he moved the bedding slightly and laid the back of his hand on Alan's cheek. Alan didn't even stir.

"Fever's down, Dad." Scott's soft voice confirmed what he had just discovered.

Jeff looked up to see his oldest son propped up comfortably in an arm chair in the shadowy corner of the room where the sun had yet to reach.

"So I see. And exactly what are you doing here?" he asked softly, although there was no need. His two sons were completely and deeply out. He didn't think the alarm klaxon would even wake them.

"Same thing you are, I'd guess." Scott answered, completely uncowed. "I couldn't sleep."

"I thought that we'd agreed . . ." Jeff began, but Scott broke him off.

"We did, but frankly, I'm still jumpy," his oldest son admitted.

"Me too," Jeff concurred. "But five hours sleep isn't enough. Especially if we're called out on a rescue."

"For you either," Scott pointed out logically.

Jeff laughed and walked over to his conscious son. Holding out a hand, he said, "Point taken. I'll go back to bed if you will."

Scott shrugged and took the proffered hand, allowing his father to pull him to his feet. "May as well. Brains was in here a little bit ago. He's figured out what they were drugged with. He said that they'll sleep for a LONG time." At his father's questioning look he continued. "No, no harm, or long term aftereffects. It's a sedative, with residual short term effectsof nausea, slowed reflexes, paranoia, and nervousness. They side effects usually lastonly a couple of days, and are best slept off. Basically, they felt really, really lousy.Brains said thatthey'll just sleep like the dead, and they'll be fine when they finally wake up."

"Okay, then. Let's emulate them." Slinging an arm over his Scott's shoulder, they both left the infirmary, lighter of heart.

Virgil watched from the shadows smiling. As soon as the two were out of sight, he slipped into the quiet infirmary, and settled into Scott's vacated chair. This was exactly where he wanted to be.

**EPILOGUE **

"Good morning," John heard as he finally stirred. The sun was streaming in from the open windows, and he realized that he was home. Hitting the button on the remote control of the hospital bed, he raised the back. Once upright, he stretched guardedly, and looked over to see Scott, Virgil and Gordon quietly engrossed in a game of cards.

He returned the greeting with a nod, then asked, "Alan?"

Scott jutted his chin towards the next bed farther down the line. "Still out for the count."

All John could make out was blond hair amidst a tightly curled mound under the cotton blanket and sheet.

"Where's Dad?"

Virgil laughed quietly. "We'd all agreed that you were both fine, and that nobody needed to stay with you. But somebody always managed to be in here, and it was Dad most of all. We finally made him take a break a couple of hours ago."

"How are you?" Gordon asked softly.

John took stock for a moment. He still had a slight headache, but was especially glad to realize that he finally felt like he was thinking normally. No more slow mental connections and no more paranoia. "Fine, I think," he said with relief. "Amazing what a few hours sleep will do."

Virgil laughed quietly. "A few? Try more like closer to 30 hours."

John looked at him incredulously. "Your not serious."

"He is," Gordon said dropping his cards. "Man, we're dying here. We want the whole story. I mean, you beat us home!"

John laughed. "Yeah, with some help from the juvenile delinquent over there."

"I heard that," came Alan's muffled voice, and the pile on the far bed began to unravel.

"No problem," Gordon snickered. "It's true."

"Shut up," Alan said, without heat.

"We slept 30 hours?" John came back to that, still amazed.

"Pretty close," Scott shrugged. "Brains said it was part of the aftereffects of the stuff you guys had in your system, and part trauma. He said it wasn't anything to worry about."

"Easy for him to say," Alan muttered, wincing as his collarbone bothered him. He mimicked John's earlier movements and raised the head of his bed, and tried to find a comfortable position.

Their attention was diverted for a moment by the arrival of Kyrano, wheeling a food cart full of steaming platters.

"Whoa! Kyrano, what's this?" Virgil said with interest.

"Mr. Brains said that he believed Mr. John and Mr. Alan would be waking up soon. I took the liberty of making a substantial breakfast. I assumed they would be hungry. And if you were not yet awake, I was certain that the others would make use of it," the unflappable man said with a gentle smile.

"You thought right," John said, pleased. He was starved. A glance at Alan showed he was feeling the same way.

"You brought enough to feed an army," Scott said in disbelief.

"I felt that Mr. John and Mr. Alan might be inclined to share," the man deadpanned.

"You thought wrong!" Alan laughed. Gordon made a mock lunge in his direction, but settled instead for helping Kyrano get tables and trays set up, and everybody served.

**_TB TB TB TB TB_**

Breakfast was soon demolished, and the tales were told. After both sides caught up with the other, the talk turned to more specifics. The kidnappers were in prison, and charges had already been filed. Jeff already had attorneys deeply involved. John had been correct – his father wanted blood. And now that International Rescue was protected and out of the picture, he was going to get it. John just laughed. He'd expected as much.

He'd also noticed Scott's reaction to their wild car trip with Alan behind the wheel. Gordon was suitably impressed and Virgil disbelieving, but Scott's eyes had narrowed and he had gazed speculatively at an oblivious Alan. Much the same reaction he himself had had, John laughed quietly to himself. Big brother was on the job. He'd leave no stone unturned, of that John had no doubt. Alan was toast, and he was well out of it.

He tuned back into the general conversation as Alan said to him, "I still want to know where you learned to pick handcuffs. You have to teach me!"

"Teach you?" Virgil laughed. "Are you kidding? You get into enough trouble."

"He knows how to pick just about every other type of lock," John said dryly.

"Cool," Gordon grinned, obviously mentally filing that information away for future use. Virgil and Scott just looked horrified.

"How . . ." Virgil began.

Scott closed his eyes in pain. "Parker. It had to be Parker."

"Next time, you might want to be more careful about who you dump me with," Alan pointed out, to Gordon's accompanying laughter.

From just outside the infirmary room door, Jeff smiled as he listened to the banter. He knew he'd get the whole story from John later. And a probably more suitably sanitized version. His sons always protected one another. That was fine. He'd had lots of practice at reading between the lines. And he knew them all much better than they ever gave him credit for.

He listened contentedly for a while longer, enjoying the sounds of all of his sons together, then headed down the hallway. He'd leave them alone for awhile. Very seldom did they get the chance for all five of them to be together as someone was usually on the space station, and Alan away at school. And as everything appeared to be fine now, somebody, probably Virgil, would need to go back up to Five today. He'd talk with John and Alan later, and give the boys some quality time together right now. After all, he had the time. All was right with his world.

_**finis**_


End file.
